


Home

by GaboBlue1004



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arya is so fucking dense sometimes, Arya will come back for her man, Arya's POV, Consensual, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gendry and Arya's love is BIGGER AND GREATER than D&D subverted expectations, Gendry is so in love with her, Gendry's POV, Gendrya - Freeform, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I hate D&D so here's this, Poor Gendry, Post-Canon, Probably full of grammar errors, Season/Series 08, Season/Series 08 Spoilers, Slow Burn, Stream of Consciousness, THOSE ARE JUST THE FACTS, This is canon now, You will not fight me in this, and that's the tea, but she loves him, post season 08, we'll see
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-03-01 10:18:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18798355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GaboBlue1004/pseuds/GaboBlue1004
Summary: Winterfell was still home. Sansa was home – she was the pack, and Arya knew it – but she was no longer just Arya Stark. The same way Sansa was no longer just Sansa; they had to become something else, just like Bran. And there was no going back. And as much Winterfell was home – and always would be- she had been too broken for home right then.Still, she wondered if there was a place, somewhere she could call home again. A place that wouldn’t be full ghosts and loss.Deep blue in autumn, the soft sound of a heart hammering nearby during the darkest nights and a frank smile, warm as summer… Arya once thought that could be home too.Two years have passed since The Last War. Arya Stark tries to find a way back home but she is not sure what exactly is home now that everyting has ended.





	1. A Winter Storm or the Hammering Heart that Yearns for Home

**Author's Note:**

> This is to my sister, my eternal companion and the reason why I write.  
> And to Karen. Because she understands...
> 
> Also, to my Gendrya shipper fellows, who have been treated with such disrespect by D&D but are still here... OURS IS THE FURY!

The howl of the night was starting to make its toll; skies above foretold the arrival of a tempest and she knew she needed to hurry up if she wanted to make it to the Wendwater before the morrow.

 _She was just passing by,_ she reminded herself _._ She needed to be quick, go fast, not look around. There was nothing there for her. _There was nothing anywhere for her._

            Not anymore.

            She could hear the wolves howling in the distance and a sting of nostalgia ached in her chest at the sound. Up in the sky, the moon peered at her with a pale face.

            Loneliness wasn’t as bad as many thought, yet it wasn’t as peaceful as she recalled – silence seemed somehow colder and emptier. Nonetheless, she was starting to get used to it again.

            The mare whinnied under her breath, tiredly, and the young woman took a quick look around her, glancing one last time at the starless night sky, letting out a weary sigh.

            She had been riding for over half the day, wandering around, unsure on where to head next. The West had turned out to be a peaceful place, full of wonder but maybe too peaceful for someone like her.

_“The lone wolf dies…”_

            Her father’s voice sounded like a soft whisper of the winter gale. It happened often, she realized. Sometimes it was as if she was still a child in the Red Keep, training her water dancing with Syrio Forell, overseen by the loving gaze of her father.

            When those moments got her, she would close her eyes and try to rebuild the details of Ned Stark’s face inside her memory; the color and the shape that his eyes had, the ring of his voice… that voice that sounded _exactly_ like a winter gale.

            Arya dismounted short after she reached the innards of the forest. It was getting late and her body was starting to resent the slow hours of ride from Bitterbridge. She lost track of time when she entered the woods some hours after dusk. The wind was howling violently now, shaking the tops of the trees and chilling her skin; it had been a long winter – as promised – but the cold in the Kingswood seemed gentle in comparison to Winterfell’s and she had enough furs to pass the night. Her only concern seemed to be the wild beasts, yet she had Needle and Cat’s Paw so she should be fine. However, as her stomach had started to rustle in hunger, she thought it would be convenient to catch something.

            As she began to set everything for the night, her mind wandered away. Winter was far from finishing and she was way too far from home.

            Heaviness laid upon her heart… _Home_.

            The word sounded somehow foreign when she thought about it. For years and years – so many, she might have forgotten what was like not to live like that – she had yearned for it.

            Home was but a fading memory; a calmed gaze, a sweet voice, a kind smile, idiotic pranks, laughter, a little boy climbing every tower in the keep and the bubbly sound of a chuckle within the halls.

            Home was a pair of brown eyes and a name…

 _Stop it_ , urged a voice inside her head. Home was gone. Or not… maybe only partly. Winterfell was still there.

 _“…The pack survives”,_ yes, but she didn’t know if she could be a part of the pack anymore. Her place was not in Winterfell, she knew that from the moment she stuck that dagger inside the Night King, then confirmed it when she found out about the rest of it.

            Of course, there was her sister too.

 _“You can always come back. This is your home”_ she had said then, with her eyes full of tears even if her face remained a neat mask of stoicism.

            Winterfell was still home. Sansa was home – she was the pack, and Arya knew it – but she was no longer just Arya Stark. The same way Sansa was no longer just _Sansa_ ; they had to become something else, just like Bran. And there was no going back. And as much Winterfell was home – and always would be- she had been too broken for home right then.

            Still, she wondered if there was a place, _somewhere_ she could call _home_ again. A place that wouldn’t be full ghosts and loss.

 _Deep blue in autumn, the soft sound of a heart hammering nearby during the darkest nights and a frank smile, warm as summer_ … Arya once thought that could be home too.

            She had dreamed of that many, many years ago, when she was still innocent. When she believed they could all live together; Robb, and her mother, and Sansa, when she got home as well. And she had thought – for a wild, _sweet_ moment – that she could be _whole_ again, even if Jon was far away, and father gone… even if Bran and Rickon would no longer be there, she would try with what was left of the pack. And maybe, just _maybe_ , with the pack she had found.

_“I can be your family…”_

            Now she seemed to be running away. From what, she didn’t know.

            She could still remember a time when she had dream of being an outlaw – riding towards the sunset and all –, like those stupid songs Sansa used to sing, her life an endless adventure.

            In many ways, she tried to convince herself her dreams had come true.

 _Not really,_ pointed out that malicious voice she heard sometimes, scornfully _in those dreams you weren’t all alone. There was always someone next to you._

            A face, a pair of blue eyes, _a hammering heart_ beating nearby.

            Arya shivered as the wind lashed the crowns of the trees. She cringed over her own useless thought and used her arms to shield herself from the grass raised along the blizzard, taking another glance at the sky.

            It was a starless night, but then again, nights were always empty since she returned to Westeros _… Except for one._

            Arya shook her head, bracing herself, sitting before a large tree whose top was quaking so violently, she feared it might fell at once.

            She was too tired, but the stormy skies will surely force her to move along the woods.

            Arya wasn’t intending to stay for long in the first place, even if she had not a clear idea of where to go.

            Perhaps she would go back to her sister; now that everything was done, now that she could be Arya Stark again, _maybe_ they could carry the burden together _–_ or at least try to rebuild what was broken.

_“In winter we must protect one another…”_

            She smiled ruefully. _Father would have liked that_ , she thought. _And mother, and Robb. But they’re gone._ And she wasn’t ready to look into Sansa’s eyes again.

            Arya recoiled at the sole thought as a cold waft whipped her face, making her turn to the mare, who was now neighing frantically.

            “Shh” she hissed, lifting both palms to placate the animal “ _Easy_ ” she whispered, but the roar of the sky seemed to drown her voice along with any other sound of the forest. She tried to calm the mare, but all her attempts went pointless as the poor creature was pouting hysterically, preventing Arya from mounting her again.

            The storm was already upon her.

 _She should have known,_ she accused herself, bitterly, but she had been too dizzy, too preoccupied, drifting back to the past, to all the things that were lost, and she had forgotten, she had forgotten the one thing that mattered in that precise moment; that she needed to get far from there soon, or else…

            The thought remained unfinished as she heard horses in the distance, racing vigorously through the timbers and towards her.

            Arya swore under her breath. It had been a _terrible_ idea to cross the Kingswood in the middle of winter _at night_ , but she had risked it, for some reason she could not fathom right then.

            Soon, a nearby neigh startled her. She placed her hand in Needle’s hilt and put her play face, that invisible mask she wore since she had stopped using the other ones; she would _not_ die in the woods by the hand of some bandit.

 _Not today._ At the end, what difference could another corpse make? She asked herself, exhausted.

            When looking up, however, she found a horse, black as night rode by a man cladded in a sturdy bronze armor. Arya could not distinguish the sigil carved at the breastplate. She noticed the hilt of the sword resting at his hip and knew he was no bandit.

            Before she could get started making assumptions, the mare agitated hysterically and ran away before Arya could do something to stop it.

 _WELL, FUCK_ , she thought, tightening her grip around Needle, ready to unsheathe it.

            She was always ready for this upcoming; wherever she went, she found these sorts of trouble. Soldiers, knights, and idiots who thought themselves so, always tried to keep unwanted travelers away from their lands. Here would be no exception, but she had hoped to avoid them by taking the loneliest roads. Not that roads were much traveled during winter anyway.

            “You” spoke the armored man “Who are you? You can’t be here” his voice sounded strange due to the helmet, but Arya noticed something about it. Maybe the pitch of his tone. The accent – southern – and somehow… childish.

            She proceeded with caution, not letting go of Needle, her eyes wide as she studied the rider intently; now that she was into it, he seemed skinny inside that robust armor _. A castle man_ , Arya thought, wary. _Great,_ she thought. _Just what I needed._

            “Hey! I asked you something, _wanderer_ ” asserted the boy in the armor. He sounded shaky and scared and Arya couldn’t help but think of Rickon, an aching sorrow leashing inside her chest. This banner boy should not be much older than her brother would have been if he were still alive.

            She wished she did not have to kill the boy. She was through, the only thing she wished for was some peace and silence, no killing, not for a while, at least.

            Arya chose her words carefully “I’m just that. Just a passerby.”

            She was wearing a thick cape and her head was covered with it. In the darkness, her face would probably not be visible, so she pulled the hood off her head to show her face, in signal of good will.

            The boy tilted her head in confusion as he removed the helmet from his head, revealing a blast of dark curls, a scrawny face with big bright eyes – she wasn’t sure whether they were brown of black due to the pitch black of the night – and an expression that showed nothing but utter _shock._

            “A girl?!” he asked, abruptly, his enormous eyes nearly out its orbits.

            Arya couldn’t help but let out a huff, loosening her grip on her sword just almost by instinct. There was no way that child could be a threat. He cleared his throat after a moment “I’m sorry, ma’am. You better get going. The others will come and you’re not safe here. The storm is already upon us…”

            She wanted to roll her eyes but instead looked into the deep abyss of the woods “I’m afraid you scared my way out of here away” she retorted, bitterly.

            The boy seemed embarrassed but tried his best to keep his face unaffected. It was obvious to Arya he was not very experienced in the art of pretending. However, the rustle of horses in the background, approaching with the voices of men tolling like a flock made her swallow hard. She could easily take down this youngster without flinching. A horde of men in armors, on the other hand… She would certainly flinch.

            A bit desperate, she looked at the banner boy and tried to sharpen her senses to discern the sigil in his armor, wondering just how deep into the Kingswood she should have been by now.

            “Are you a mercenary?” asked the boy tremulously.

            Arya took a deep breath wondering if all men there were as blunt. “Passerby” she repeated with a dim voice “I’m heading to the Wendwater”

            The boy scowled “Wendwater is three hours away. Storm is upon us” he repeated, thoughtfully. His face then passed from suspicion to utter shame “I really don’t know how to help you, ma’am… I was supposed to patrol the perimeter to make sure there was no one out during the storm.” He seemed to ponder about it for a moment “My lord will not be pleased if I tell him I let a girl at her fate…”

            Arya thought about it herself. It would be no good to spend the night in the middle of a Tempest, yet _she needed to move along from that bloody place._

            “Then why not let me go?”

            “Can’t do. You would die for sure. Storms are remorseless at their best” his words were not menacing, but truthful.

            “And what do you care?” she retorted, surly “I’m a wanderer, you said it yourself.”

            The horses could be heard closer as they spoke.

            The armored child seemed torn as he deliberated. His infant expression turned settled as he talked again “I’ll take you to a safe place. But you need to hand your weapons.”

            Arya didn’t really want to do that. Of course, she hadn’t taken that bloody storm into consideration when she decided to cross the Kingswood at night.

            “I would prefer to keep them”

            The boy looked around nervously “Ma’am, _please_.” He begged, an ill-at-ease tone resonating in his voice “My lord will be upset if I let an all-armed and mysterious foreigner inside the keep…”

            “I’m sure your Lord would be rather pleased to know how you scared my horse away and left me to die…” countered Arya with her Stranger’s voice. That she had learned from the House of Black and White, in what seemed to be a lifetime ago.

            The boy frowned “Listen, I’m just a squire here. Those there” he said, pointing at the now visible hue of light approaching in the distance “They won’t let you come along if they see that castle sword hanging from the hip. The keep is full of families, y’know, villagers. Winter storms are way too dangerous. You really don’t have any other option, I’m afraid so, _c’mon_ , I’ll take you with me. I’ll just need them while the storm passes.”

            No matter how reasonable his reasons seemed, Arya wouldn’t give Needle.

            She tugged her cape and took a sack from it, then extended it to the squire “Take me there _with_ my weapons and I’ll give you this.”

            The boy took the sack, hesitantly. He looked truly desolated as he answered, with a sad face “I’m sorry, but I cannot accept it.”

            “Then take me there and I promise not to tell anyone you did.”

            “How will you explain the sword… and the dagger?” he added, pointing at the hilt of Cat’s Paw with his chin “If I take you there and you’re carrying them…”

            “I’ll keep them out of sight”

            A din broke the tense silenced and agitated the horses that were nearer by then, the boy’s included. He let out an exasperated gasp. There was something about his brusque manners that made her quiver and fight the smile that was forming in her lips.

            The boy that was the same age her brother would be let out an exasperated and earnest huff “Alright” he surrendered, reluctantly “But _now_ ” said the boy, urging her to mount at once.

            Arya hurried up and took the little saddlebag she had placed by the tree when she had dismounted less than half an hour ago. The boy seemed ready to help her mount the black horse, but she did it quickly, with a graceful movement, startling the boy, who had to blink twice in awe.

            “Well then” his voice was tense and a bit awkward “Gods help me” he mumbled, herding the horse back to where he had come, where the bannermen were coming from “How should I call you?”

            Arya let out a sigh. A thousand names came to her mind at that question.

            How many names had she had along her training? How many faces had she wore? She could have chosen _whatever_ name she has wanted, whatever lie she’d wished. She could be whoever; Mercy, or Alana, or Walder Frey himself if she wanted to. Instead, she chose the most dull and simple of identities “Arry.” She said, the sound of the name tickling in her mouth all of a sudden.

            “Well, Arry. Hold tight, there’s not much time before the tempest, and Storm’s End is half an hour from here.”

            Arya’s stomach dropped at that moment, but in many aspects, it was as if she was just waiting to go there, of all places.

 _Storm’s End_ , she thought, swallowing even harder than before.

            Well, of course, she thought, ironically as she tried not to burst in shakiness, or tears, feeling her heart _hammering_ against her chest.


	2. A Huntress or the Girl that Wished She Was Unlucky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya's fate is to be decided by Baratheon's bannermen.  
> The storm is approaching and so is her fate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there!  
> I'm back with this piece of work.  
> Ok, so today's the big day. Either if you had read the leaks or not, even if those leaks are real or not, my heart is still hopeful. Not for Dumb & Dumber, who had shown to hate this show and its characters lately. But for us.  
> As long as the God of death do not claim any of our babies (the stag or the wolf), hope must prevail.  
> So this is my version, the piece of my heart I get to share with you lot.  
> GENDRYA IS REAL, IT WILL ALWAYS BE, NO MATTER THE DUMBASS DECISIONS WRITERS TOOK. 
> 
> This, too, is for my sis. My biggest source of inspiration.  
> For Karen, and my cousins that are dying for these two ever since the beginning. And for all of you, mates.  
> KEEP HOPES UP! No matter ho this journey ends.

The windstorm lashed her face as they advanced through the tempest.

            She was trying her best not to think on their destination, focusing all her senses in capturing her surroundings; the rattle of a furious sky that announced the arrival of the turmoil, the horse galloping towards the rest of the bannermen, their voices, crackled and anxious, indistinct and covered by the rumble.

            Remaining silent had become a second nature to her. She had no words that could suffice to explain what she was feeling. So, she stayed quiet behind the young squire, her head covered by the hood, her gaze fixed on the road.

            The aimless beating of her heart seemed to resonate along the growl of the enraged night and as they got closer, the indistinct hissing grew clearer.

            “Hey, look! Is that Gar?” asked one of them, tall and slim like a pin, with a dun beard. There was something about his face that reminded her of a younger Theon Greyjoy. Maybe it was his smug smile or the way his eyebrows crooked as they got closer “Uh? Who’s that?” his question left his mouth, husk and suspicious.

            Arya felt how the squire – Gar – tensed as he answered back, trying _way too hard_ to sound conceited “Mind your own damn business” his words were harsh, but there was a little sharpness about his tone that made her a little melancholic all of a sudden.

            “Huh?” the tall one sharpened his glare with a frown, seemingly displeased by the boy’s plain answer “Is it a woman?”

            Soon enough, the sound of the stupid little laughter of the rest roared on the background.

            Arya stayed still, her eyes staring absently, exerting herself to blank out her own course of thought.

            “A huntress” retorted Gar “I’m taking her to the keep…”

            “You can’t take an outsider into the keep” rejoined someone from the back.

            “Says who?” countered the young boy, annoyance starting to make its way into his tone “Lord Baratheon gave specific word to gather all the people who had no refuge into the keep.”

            Arya felt a shiver run down her spine and into her very marrow.

_“You will marry a high lord and rule his castle. And your sons should be knights and princes, and lords...”_

            Her father’s voice reached to her amidst time, and memories, and scars that weren’t closed yet. And wouldn’t _never._

_That’s not me…_

            She had been very young then. Just a little child that chased cats and water danced. And still, she had been so certain.

            Now? Now she was not so sure, –even if it was now, more than ever, that she knew it was not to be her fate.

            She would have no sons. No daughters…

 _“…Be my wife, be the Lady of Storm’s End”_ she was certain she could not be _that_. Not after everything that had happened.

            Not that she had wanted something like that. _She was never like Sansa._

_Then why was it so upsetting?_

            “Is that one of your whores, then?” inquired another. This one was plump, with a pinkish face that glittered even in the bass darkness.

            Arya turned on the alerts, staring icily at him.

            “Fuck off, Rud” grumbled Gar, noticeably pestered “Let’s get right away, shall we? The storm is already upon us and we won’t make it if we stay here prattling around”

            “Is she mute?” interjected Theon – no, _Mard, his name was Mard_ – corrected Arya, torn, with that self-satisfied look on his face that made her heart ache just a little.

            “Seven hells, Mard. Just shut up and let us go on” huffed Gar.

            “Hey, _huntress_ ” called Mard, so joyfully he sounded idiotic “Pretty eyes, I see. Grey is an astonishing color” he said, his insistent gaze hovering Arya, shamelessly.

            Arya blinked once, a mask of nothingness covering her face.

            Mard’s green eyes skimmed her intently, pricking up his sight to look her better. Arya remained as _faceless_ as she could, not even moving a single muscle of her face.

            “I’m serious. We better get going” interrupted Gar, nervously, and a rattle coming from the sky seemed to reassert his words “Lord Baratheon won’t be pleased if we don’t come back in time.”

            The man named Rud snorted under his breath, so low perhaps none of the others heard him. But Arya did, and she had to remind herself those were Baratheon men. Those were _his_ men. She could not harm any of them, no matter how abhorrent they were.

            The bannermen seemed to agree with the boy’s statement, and so they began to return into the road, except for Rud. He kept staring at her, his small piggy eyes glowing strangely in the dark.

            Arya had seen many gazes like that. All those had ended up in the same place.

            “Rud!” called one of the other men who were riding along “What’s the matter?”

            The man narrowed his eyes and raised his chin towards Arya with an unpleasant look in his face “Is that a damn sword?” he spat the question and then grinned, exposing his yellowish teeth.

            She saw Gar’s back straightening as she put her hand on the hilt.

            Rud widened his crooked grin and looked at the young squire wickedly “Well then, I guess m’lord will be rather pleased to know his bloody favorite is leading an armed wench into the keep, with the villagers…”

            “She will do no harm” retorted Gar, nervously “Besides… Lord Gendry told me to take every person within the land into the keep…”

            “Not a wench with a sword.”

            “Stop calling her that!” replied Gar, his voice a mix between fear and vexation.

            The boy was brave, she thought, taking a quiet breath. Gruff and anxious, but bold. It made Arya remember another boy who used to be brave and proud…

_No wonder why he’s his favorite,_

            “I call the wench whatever I want” retorted the fat man “You can suck Lord Gendry’s cock all you want. But no wench will enter the keep with a sword…”

            “Come on, Rud” rejoined the one that looked like Theon – Mard, Arya had to scold herself– a witty look on his face “Let the girl be. Hunters need weapons, don’t they? And anyway, what’s the problem? Don’t tell me you’re afraid of a girl with a sword. I mean, look at the size of that thing” the man snorted loudly, skimming Arya with an indulgent look on his face.

            As if _any_ of them knew what a girl with a sword could do. _Specially that girl with that sword._

            “Please…” interceded Gar, seemingly tired, although he sounded anything but apologetic “I don’t want any trouble. I’m just following my orders. If we don’t hurry up, the peak of the storm will reach us, so could we please arrive and then take care of the regulations?”

            “The boy is right” asserted someone in the back “We better move on now. Everyone’s in the castle by now.”

            Arya just kept staring silently at the man named Rud, fixing her attention on the stag carved in his breastplate as the only reminder she needed not to harm him

 _She was in_ his _home now. She was where he was._

            Rud, however squinted his gaze and got closer to her, still riding his horse “I don’ t like this cunt” he huffed, then examined her from head to toe, a lewd, disgusting smile curving his lips “But the storm will be long” And saying this, he leaned down, reaching out to rub her thigh. Gar startled immediately, making the horse move to put Arya out of the older man’s reach.

            “Fuck off, Ruden.” Growled the boy, and Arya saw how he placed his hand on the hilt of his own sword “This is hardly the time for your horseshit.”

            “Man, seriously” added Mard, a nervous pitch now peeping in his voice “We should get going.”

            Rud let out a thunderous guffaw that sounded both porcine and grotesque “You better watch your mouth, sissy. You think you can take me down with that shit stick?! Be my fucking guest…”

            “Rud, that’s enough” called another man that remained faceless as it was getting darker

            “We should probably be getting in our way…” replicated Mard with an anxious smile.

            “You can let him do his shit show. Lord Baratheon will know about this…”

            Before anyone could say a thing, the man unsheathed his sword in a furious movement “That fucking bastard that calls himself our Lord can suck my cock for all I care” he howled, his face red with anger “ _Lord Baratheon.”_ He sniffed, contemptuously “I served Lord Steffon when I was just a squire, then I served King Robert before the years of Lord Renly. I endured a fagot, but now a _bastard_ that was not even born here… and his _whoresquire_ ” his voice was poisonous as he directed his plump chin towards Gar and spitted in his direction “Another bloody bastard. I won’t be diminished by a cock sucker in front of…” he could not finish his bluster, for the next thing he felt was the cold steel of the blade against his throat.

            He let out a sound that resembled a breathless scream, then looked into a pair of shimmering grey eyes staring back at him in the dark. Arya heard the choked gasps around her, Gar’s included. The rest of them unsheathed his swords a few seconds later but she could _feel_ the dubiousness around her. She knew if she cut that jolt’s throat, she would most likely be making all of them a favor.

            But she fixed her attention into those little, piggy eyes. Now, with Needle so near his jugular, he didn’t seem as outraged. His face was now white as the one of the moon, and she could’ve sworn she had smelled urine in the air. Such a shame, she rued she couldn’t ascertain it due to the lack of illumination.

            “GARLAN, WHAT THE-?” blurted Mard, as a thunder roared in the background, accompanied with an icy gale that stirred the hood away her head.

            “I think we could save us the scene” asserted Arya, Faceless mode on, so smoothly she almost sounded indulgent “We’ll go to your Lord and we will ask him what he thinks about this little chat we just had” her voice was sharp as the blade she was holding against his throat.

            It was until then that Arya turn to glare at the rest of them, her gaze cold and undeterred, letting herself lift an eyebrow with a somehow scornful look on her face. It was good to have some damn silence, for a change.

            She knew she shouldn’t have done such an exhibition. Arya Stark knew better than to boast to those twats. She knew better, _much_ better, but she also knew – as a matter of fact – that if she had to listen that _pig_ for a second longer, she would just add another number to her never-ending body count.

            The utter stillness in which they all remained was almost amusing, only interrupted by the violent turmoil of the wind lashing on their faces, accompanied with the wrathful roar of thunder.

            Arya had to take a deep breath before lowering Needle and turn to Gar, who was now staring at her in awe and dread. She couldn’t help but soften her expression, just a bit, so subtly they would never notice… _hopefully._

            “You’ll take me there” she said, as soon as she recovered herself, placing Needle inside its sheath and handing it to him, as reluctantly as she could.

            It took the young squire a couple of seconds to react and receive the sword, startled as he was. Arya lifted her palms as a sign of peace and proceeded with caution as she approached the horse once again.

            Garland kept staring, dumbfounded, as the young woman rode once again, right behind, as she had been until just seconds before. The rest of the bannermen seconded, shocked. Arya could feel Mard’s eyes on her, along with countless more.

            Any deliberation was solved, however, at the deafening roar of the sky.

            The storm was there.

            Gar sighed, heavily, then took a moment to gather enough energy and said, loudly, yet a bit shaky “Let’s go home.” The rest of them just nodded silently and seemingly followed him as he got back on track. Even that idiot, Rud.

            Arya swallowed hard, putting on her hood once again, to cover from the icy gales.

            If she was lucky enough, they would take her to Storm’s End and decide her fate afterwards, as Gar had suggested

How come the deadliest assassin felt so utterly terrified?

_If she was lucky, she would get to avoid facing him. Or maybe she was to be unlucky. She would get to see him, just one more time._

    Andfor a split second, she wished she was unlucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was it! (For now, at least)  
> ALSO, I forgot to tell you I decided to add two more chapters, I'll be posting them within this week and the next. I need closure. The closure we may not get today. But hey! That's what fanfictions are for, am I right?  
> Again, if there is any grammar mistake or something you dislike, make sure to let me know. Also if there's something you enjoyed.  
> Writing about them had given me the strength I need to get through this mess. I hope I can help you too.  
> PLEASE, I WILL BE DYING TO READ YOUR COMMENTS! 
> 
> Also, I got a Gendrya play list, would you like me to share the songs I'm using to inspire me while wrtiting this fic? Let me know in the comments.  
> I love y'all, folks.  
> Remember. OURS IS THE FURY!


	3. Homesick, or a Little Orphan in the Woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya dwells on the past as she gets closer to Storm's End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is... the third chapter of this piece of work.  
> It's late and I was anxious about posting this on time, so have mercy on me please...  
> Well, this one goes to Karen, my dear sister, my darling dear and my cousins. Love you, gals, thank you for reading my garbage, means the world to me.  
> And so, to you, my dearest Gendrya shippers. You're the best, you know that? To stay here even after that mess, to keep faith.  
> GENDRYA IS ENDGAME, PEOPLE. NO MATTER HOW MUCH EFFORT D&D PUT INTO MESSING EVERYTHING UP.  
> Anyhow, I hope you enjoy this chapter. As you have noticed, I added another chapter. For the ones who don't know me, you'll find out I like to take things very slowly, I hope it doesn't bother you so much.  
> Also, I'll pass you songs I have on my Gendrya playlist, you know, the songs I hear to inspire myself while writing about these two :'3 songs that remind me of them. Check the notes at the end if you want to know!

By the time they reached the peak, typhoons had already started whipping the earth and the rain was spilling from the sky, the same way blood sheds from a corpse. Not a nice image, granted, but she thought it was accurate.

            Arya could barely see amongst the cloudburst, but she did hear the horses behind her, galloping stubbornly through the storm. It had been almost half an hour since they had started their march, and little bit more than five minutes since the beginning of the heavy rain. She had been to countless tempests now. In the sea, storms seemed more ruthless than they ever were on land; still, this one was by far one of the fiercest she had ever witnessed.

The young girl let out a sigh, peeking for something that could be glimpsed in the distance amidst the drizzle.

            “Are we too far away?” she dared to ask, raising her voice so it could be heard above the shrill sound of the downpour.

            The young squire tensed his muscles. She could tell from behind him, his shoulders going stiff.

            Arya was no stranger to being feared. It was just natural. Many had been afraid of the Faceless Assassin she had become years ago. Later, she was dreaded because of the renown that preceded her; Arya Stark, the Bringer of Dawn and Hero of Winterfell – some even had the nerve to call her _The Princess that was Promised,_ as if that meant something – would either cause thrill or utter terror.

            She had grown accustomed.

            They were right to fear her, anyway. Even Sansa did, once. Perhaps Jon would have, had he ever known what she was forced to become; how she slaughtered her enemies when she got nothing left but the gift she had been given. _To kill._

     Everyone who got close enough ended up terrified, suspicious or wary.

_Everyone but him._

            She let a shiver go down her spine.

     Arya recoiled a little where she stood, scolding herself. Her mind was working all stunned and dizzy. As if she was still a little girl in the Kingsroad, with her heart pounding as it used to do _,_ – whenever he flashed a worried glimpse at her, amidst uncertainty. Or when he smiled teasingly, muttering under his breath, in those precious but few times when they were allowed to be kids instead of fugitives – fast and wild like those times she checked on him while he hit the anvil – _those times when he was all she had._

      “Not really” announced Garland, with a formal tone, his voice bursting through her musings and startling her a little “A few more minutes and we’ll reach the keep.”

     Arya nodded quietly, not minding the cold lash of the wind on her face, neither the deathly silence of the banner men behind them.

     “I’m sorry” she muttered hesitantly, but loud enough so the young squire would hear her.

     He tensed _again_ and gasped, shrugging huskily as he responded, his voice a little stiff still “Rud’s a cunt. No one here can stand him. Even Lord Baratheon can barely talk to him without getting upset–”

     “I’m not sorry for that” cut out Arya, with dim voice. She knew she would have slit his throat if he hadn’t that bloody stag carved in his breastplate “I shouldn’t have done that. You helped me and I gave you my word…”

     Garland snorted a little in teeth “I should have known, ma’am, there’s no use for you to be sorry. Besides, I was following my orders. And it was the right thing to do, anyway” his words were surly, and she couldn’t help but let a hinted smile slip into her lips, _just a little_. That boy sounded strangely familiar, and she wondered if _he_ had seen it too.

     “You’re loyal” the words came out of her mouth almost unwittingly, but she didn’t flinch since it was out of question. Her heart was beating fast, she realized. Maybe out of nostalgia, or anxiousness… maybe out of _excitement_ , she wouldn’t venture to guess “Your lord must be glad to have you…”

     The night was still dark and the rain still merciless, however, she needed no sight to know the boy was blushing at her words “It is my duty to be loyal”

     “So is his” asserted Arya, feeling her gut stretching at the sole thought of that pig riding behind them along with the others “Loyalty is something we choose”

     Garland didn’t answer right away. The sound of the horseshoes hitting the ground resonated along with the raising roar of the storm.

     “Lord Gendry’s a good man” muttered finally the youngster, as gruff and sufficient as he could “I mean… he’s honorable. Not many men are honorable, y’know?”

     “I do” she said, softly, feeling her chest swelling faintly as her memory went back to the blacksmith with gentle heart that once grasped her life together – even if he never knew it.

     There was a soft, thin moment until Gar cleared his throat “So… Arry?”

     Arya winced a little but nodded “Aye?”

     Gar half turned to her for a few seconds, as if he wasn’t so sure.

     She wasn’t lying, though. In many ways, she was Arry. Or wished to be, at least while she was _there_. Just a little orphan, homeless, wandering around. That’s how she felt ever since she had returned to Westeros. Like Arry.

_Lost and all alone._

     “What’s in Wendwater?”  blurted the boy, with a brusqueness that made Arya’s heart want to either chuckle or burst into tears.

     She said nothing. The storm was getting worse, but he seemed contented. Arya shivered again, feeling the cold water of winter rain downing inside her spine.

     Winter was a part of her. It coursed through her heart veins, but _storms,_ on the other hand. _Storms_ seemed to be her weakness.

     “So, what happens next?” she ventured to ask, raising her voice to be heard above the tempest.

     Gar let out a sigh “Huh?”

     Arya huffed, feeling her lungs heavy with coldness “When we get there. What’s to be my fate?” her voice was still and calm, as usual, but her heart was racing as the horse galloped _closer_ and closer to the keep. _To him._

     “Where does your Lord put commoners?”

     “In the Great Hall, in the forge, everywhere there’s shelter from the storm… but…” Gar cleared his throat out of discomfiture. His voice kept still that blunt pitch that made him sound young, so young… _she wondered_ , how would her baby brother’s voice would be, then decided to drop the subject for her heart began to bleed once again. It was not a moment for that. She could dwell on her ghosts once she got out of _there_. Once the storm passed.

     “But what?” she inquired, raising her voice.

     Garland let out a sigh “Rud is not going to make this easy for either of us… Just… listen, once we get to the keep, you do as I say, ok?  I’ll tell Lord Baratheon you were just defending from that moron…”

     “I really don’t want to cause any trouble” she said, shivering all of a sudden as the wet drops of the winter storm poured underneath the leather of her clothes.

     The young squire seemed to notice something was off. He peered at her from above his shoulder “You ok, ma’am?”

     Arya let out a cough “I’m fine” she said, feeling suddenly annoyed at the quivers taking over her.

     Garland nodded, but she couldn’t tell if he was convinced – not that it mattered – for he turned back into the road. She tried to fix her attention in what was going to be her next move. Her next destination… _she needed to get out of there as soon as the storm passed._

     A voice inside her head kept telling her, on and on… _I need to get out of here before is too late._ Late for what? She didn’t want to delve too much into it.

     She was starting to feel odd and dizzy when she heard the boy speak again, although he sounded farther than she had expected “There it is” he breath, almost longingly.

     Arya felt her heart dropping as she lifted her gaze upon the hill. It was quite a view, almost as a vision you witness in a dream; a massive curtain wall surrounding a thick tower, standing proud amidst the tempest, with the thunderous sky in the background. She had only heard stories of Storm’s End. Her father would tell her about it when she was just a child, and she may had imagined many sights of the fortress, perpetually unwavering, no matter how ruthless the storm was. But this was certainly _remarkable_.

 _She_ _was looking at his home_.

     Arya was completely dumbfounded at the idea of that magnificent place being his home. _Where he belonged, where he once wished her to belong too. But then again, she wasn’t sure she belonged anywhere anymore._ How could she ever belong in such a place?

 _She was no lady_ , only a lady could live in a castle.

     “We arrived” Mard’s voice irrupted through her delirious ruminations, and soon enough – enough to startle her, to her own confusion –, she found the lanky bannerman beside them the moment later.

     “Oh, did we?” replied Gar, laconically.

     Mard ignored his friend’s tone and took a glimpse at Arya. She noticed his eyes examining her cautiously. _There it was again, the suspicion, the fear_ …

     “What are you going to do with Miss Huntress?” asked the taller boy, with that grin in his mouth – that grin that would have made her sister cry had she been there.

     Garland snorted, notably pestered “What am I do? I’ll take her to the keep…”

     “You’d be wise to talk to Lord Gendry first” asserted Mard, warningly, turning back slightly above his shoulder, as to make sure the rest was far enough “I heard them saying they would tell him about the sword. He won’t be so pleased if he knows…” his voice was lower, and he seemed serious, for a bit.

     Arya understood then; loyalty was visible among these two. Even if Mard was silly, he was loyal to the squire. _They were a pack on their own¸_ thought Arya, wistfully.

     “Go ahead. Make sure to arrive first and talk to m’lord. Otherwise those cunts will cause you strain. Go on, for fuck’s sake!” insisted Mard, exasperatedly.

     The young squire grunted something under his breath, grumpily, but obeyed, nonetheless.

     Arya had to hold tighter as the horse increased its pace. She felt everything _so vivid_ , like in a dream. And it was cold.

     So cold.

     All she could think was she was still just a little orphan in the woods, but as she got closer, she stupidly felt homesick, anxious.

_As if she was returning home._

     Delusional, at best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO HERE IT WAS!  
> I know, I know, don't hate me for postponing their encounter. I make sure it is worth it!  
> I really hope you liked this! It may have plenty errors, if you notice some, please let me know. Since English is not my first language, trust me, I struggle to deliver this chapters the best I can, is my pleasure!  
> So what d you think? I will be thrilled to read your comments! PLEASE LEAVE THEM, THEY ADD YEARS TO MY LIFE, CURE MY DEPRESSION AND CLEAR MY SKIN.  
> I'm taking this slow, as you can see, but I'll keep writing and adding if I must, in order to provide you with quality content, as much as my wrting skills allow me. Just know that I loved these characters and their relationship with all my heart, and I know they deserve closure. A good one, if you ask me. AND A HAPPY ENDING AS WELL, and since D&D didn't do that for us, I'm here to do the best I can.  
> However, in this link https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AjuQM8sgkfM you'll find the song that inspired this chapter. Tell what do you think of the lyrics on the comments.  
> Well, I'll leave you here, hope you enjoy this and forgive me for taking too long.  
> Love you!  
> OURS IS THE FURY!  
> Oh, and LEAVE YOUR COMMENTS PLEASE.


	4. Lordly Matters or The Stranger that Came with the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now we get to take a look inside Gendry's mind. His new duties as the lord of Storm's End and his constant dwelling on a past he both resents and yearns for.  
> Will that past return to him, unexpectedly?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUUUUUYS!  
> I'm a terrible person, I'm aware of that! It's just that these past months have been crazy! First, I went off to make my social service. I was unable to write or upload, because I was working and out of wifi for a whole. Then, when I got back, I started my semester at university and had loads and loads of homework! AND THAT SUCKED, becuase all I could think was this story and how much I love it!  
> But hopefully it won't happen again. I'm back and I'm back for good.  
> I'm really excited about this little story, specially with that stupid ending and the stupid scripts and how much these characters deserved better, so worry no more, I will end this story and maybe even write more about Arya and Gendry.  
> Now I got back with one of my favorite characters to write. Our dear Lord Baratheon. This is from his POV, so I hope you enjoy it!  
> PLEASE, leave your comments about what were your thoughts and feelings. Also what do you think will happen next? What do you expect? I'LL BE DYING TO READ YOUR COMMENTS, PLEASEEEE.  
> And remember... OURS IS THE FURY, GUYS, AND GENDRYA WILL ALWAYS BE THE ULTIMATE SHIP!  
> Please forgive me and enjoy this chapter.  
> I love you all so much!

The halls of the keep were packed with people, filled with the murmur of lively voices, the smell of stew coming from the kitchens and the distant hum of the bards’ melodies in the Great Hall. It was an endearing scene, to say the less, for a place that was usually all emptiness and silence.

            Nearby, a little girl chased her brother down the crowded hallway. The boy giggled joyfully as he fled from his sister’s playful grip, much invested that he tripped on someone who was passing by, falling on his arse bluntly as his dark eyes darted on the stranger with whom he had just stumbled. The girl, who seconds earlier had been racing beamingly after her baby brother, stopped her jaunty pace, digging her ankles on the floor, looking up.

            “For the grace of the Seven!” a dark-haired woman appeared behind the children with a grouchy frown on her face “What are you–” the words died inside her mouth as her eyes rested on the individual into whom her children had ran, her expression passing from severity to utter disbelief as realization dawned on her.

The woman bowed her head, compliantly “ _M’lord_ ” she muttered, dejected, grabbing both her puzzled children close to her “Please, you must excuse them, they’re-…”

            “’s alright …” retorted the passerby, gruffly, his limbs stiff and his face hot with uneasiness as he lifted his palm, shaking his head “There’s no…” he cleared his throat, to conceal his bashfulness. _Seven bloody hells, when would all that become less damn uncomfortable_? He asked himself, frustrated. _Pronounce all words, complete and steady_ he reminded himself, the words of Ser Davos resonating inside his head ““Is not necessary to apologize.” He asserted, collected as his own sloppiness let him.

            Sometimes he forgot all the lessons he had learned on how to be a proper lord, and with his mentor currently serving in King’s Landing, Gendry needed to constantly remind himself on those details he tended to forget.

            He took a deep breath, trying to smile despite his self-consciousness. Steady and calmed _. Lordly._

            “Is good to see you’re comfortable and safe” he dared to say, smiling down at the children, whose big brown eyes glared back at him, wide and bewildered.

            “What’s your name?” he asked, rather softer than he ever imagined he could speak, his eyes looking kindly at the children, who seemed beyond baffled, their big dark eyes staring out in confusion and awe. Their mother shook them a little, taken aback herself, muttering under her breath, so low he couldn’t hear what she said.

            The first to talk was the little girl, whose bright eyes gaped into his, still confused “Ilya. And he’s Dom”

            Gendry smiled at them, softly. Despite how odd it still felt to be treated like a high lord it was not that difficult for Gendry to feel fondness over those people… _his_ people.

_“I’ve never had a family…”_

            Memories kept striking him in the wrong moments, even as years passed by. How good could memories be once everything was said and done?

            He shook his head, taking a breath to remove any yearning that could be left behind himself and inviting his guests to sit down for dinner was about to be served. The young woman bowed in gratefulness as she took her children with her, smiling shyly with her head tilted.

            He was not accustomed, nor familiarized or comfortable with how people at Storm’s End treated him ever since the end of the war. Never did he understand the ways of noblemen, not to say had he shared the opinion of tilting one’s head for a man that was no more than that.

            For people to do it for him felt wrong in many ways.

            He may have been a King’s son by blood, but he was raised a bastard. Gendry Waters was never one to bow for any lord. Not even Lord Hand. He was more a man of his own word; he swore loyalty to a King years before, and he swore again for another King and so he kept his word. But he never bowed for any man.

            There was only one person he had bowed for. And that person was no man.

            Gendry straightened his shoulders and kept his unsteady pace across the Great Hall heading for his solar as the sign of an arriving storm roared outside the keep.

            Had Ser Davos been there, he would’ve told him it was convenient for him to stay and take care of his many guests. But he wasn’t in the mood since that same morning, his heart had started pounding with uneasiness for no apparent reason. Perhaps because of the winter storm Maesters had predicted for that day, as Lord Florent had suggested in the noon reunion when he noticed his incertitude. Gendry knew, however, it had nothing to do with that. It was more like a violent anticipation; an omen of sorts.

            As he passed over the halls, bowing here and there every time he met a lord, a knight or a servant, a stir began to thump his gut. When he finally reached his solar –that ridiculously big mahogany door carved with stags and trees –, he locked himself in there, with the howl of the wind as the only discernible sound.

            The chamber wasn’t specially warm, not even when the fire was lighted, but it suited Gendry’s needs just fine; it was wide and comfortable in its own way, like a cold forge with a big map of the Seven Kingdoms – Six, and The North, he reminded himself, unwittingly bitter.

             It had also a board pane of glass through which the wide, restless sea could be gazed. He often found himself locked there, before that window, staring at the endless sea that spread in front of him. Sometimes wondering about long distances, others daydreaming about impossible arrivals… but most of times he would find himself just yearning.

            Uselessly, for sure, just like in that moment.

            Whenever a storm leashed the land, Gendry went there and watched the inclement waves colliding with the rocks, mercilessly like the thunders parting the skies. His heart would always beat fiercely with fear. There were stories in those lands… like the one of his grandparents perishing before his father’s and uncle’s eyes under the ruthless storm. He had these nightmares sometimes – like those that tormented him back then, after he heard of the Red Wedding – in which he was standing there, too; he would glimpse a lonely ship in the distance; wooden, small and sturdy, with a grey banner with a dire-wolf in it, and his heart would hammer with anticipation, but then the storm would revolt the waves, crashing everything before his eyes.

            It was idiotic, he knew. And he tried his best not to think much about lost causes; he was a Lord with many concerns after him. The last thing he needed was to keep waiting for a never-arriving fate. _This was not back then, when he knew something was coming,_ for now he was certain everything had passed him by, leaving him behind. What had come, left faster than it arrived. And now he needed to think of something bigger, something greater than him.

            He finally had a family to take care of.

            It was then that the sky started to pour with a thunderous bellow.

            He thought of the men he sent to watch over the borders. It had been nearly three hours since then and he hadn’t been notified of their return. He knew all of them knew how to handle tempests.

            It was Gar that worried him; he was tough, for sure, but he was still just a kid. Gendry wondered if he should have gone after them. In the end, it had been his idea to patrol the borderlines. Gendry had had this foreboding that maybe there were people that might needed protection. People that were far from home.

            Older lords had scorned his idea of receiving commoners int the keep, but Gendry cared little about their archaic opinions whatsoever. He was the lord of Storm’s End whether any of them – even himself – liked it or not, and those “peasants”, as they contemptuously referred, were _his_ people. He was responsible for them and he would not leave any of them behind.

 _The pack survives_ , he couldn’t help but think in those words. He still could not separate them from the voice that kept haunting his dreams. – just now it was more profound, somehow softer, like a frantic caress disguised as fierceness– How had he held into that voice through the longest night…

 _Pointlessly_ , he thought, sourly, quivering as his mind went back to that last time.

            So deep was he in his own thoughts, he barely heard when someone knocked the door.

            “Come in” instructed Lord Baratheon, with a deep voice. It was the one he used when he lost himself in bitter cavillations. It happened rather frequently.

            A short man appeared by the threshold “M’lord” he said, bowing slightly, a solemn expression on his face -which Gendry knew, of course, he just needed to remember his name, so he took a second to remember it. If he was not wrong, he was Septa Arelle’s younger brother… _Olven… Oliven._ Yes, Oliven.

            “Tell me, Oliven” asserted Gendry, with a nod and a straight face, as he had educated himself to do every time a soldier addressed him as _“M’ lord”_ unironically.

            “They’re back” said the young man, with a slight tilt “The bannermen” he promptly explained himself “Garland has requested to meet with you, m’lord.”

            He couldn’t help but let relief settle upon his chest as storm was fierce outside and he was starting to get worried for his men – to be quite honest, it was the boy that worried him the most –. Gendry raised an eyebrow.

            Oliven nodded “He’s outside. Apparently, he got here earlier than the rest to have a word with you. He’s brought someone with him.”

            Those words took Gendry aback “A commoner?”

            “I’m not sure, he’s wearing a cloak, but Garland has a sword, he says is the stranger’s but insisted he needs to speak to you before Rud arrives” at this point, Oliven’s face was tense and wary. It was often like that in the matters regarding the youngster.

            But Gendry kind of felt for him; he was a good lad, to say the less. He was stubborn and pig-headed but in a way that reminded him of better times – _simpler_ , at least.

            However, it was not safe to bring armed strangers to a keep full of people, especially since bandits teemed in Storm’s End borderlines. He had warned Gar about this topic, and the urgency he seemed to be showing to meet him wasn’t a good sign, either.

            Gendry took a deep breath, knowing that couldn’t be but trouble for him. Those old morons would be a pain in his arse if Garland had brought a potentially dangerous outlaw into the keep.

            “Let him in, then”

            Oliven flashed a distressed frown at him but hold himself immediately as he straightened “What about the outsider, m’lord?”

He sighed, exhaustedly, taking a glimpse towards the iron handgrip of his Warhammer lying beside the window. He could handle a sword – in case, of course, that things were to take that turn “’S alright. Let them both in.”

            The man just bowed his head and left the solar with collectedness.

            Gendry let out an exhalation, sitting by the wooden worktable to assume his tedious responsibilities as the lord of a keep.

_When in Seven Bloody Hells had he even dared to imagine such a thing?_

            That was the last thought that came to his mind the moment he heard Gar’s jagged steps coming nearby, followed by a much subtle, delicate patter. Gendry accommodated himself in his sit, neatening his posture to the likes of a high lord.

            The look on the boy’s face was one of distress. He was clearly soaking from the storm roaring outside, full of dirt, and sweat. His hair was messy, and his eyes seemed turmoiled. Gendry tried his best not to huff –it was not lordly to huff, of course – for it was evident he had got himself into trouble.

            The other one – _stranger_ , as Oliven had called him – took Gendry by surprise. He was, indeed, cloaked, but way too slim and petite. He almost looked like a child, all covered and soaking wet. The dark fabric of the hood covered his face, but his posture was faultless – so much, it made Lord Baratheon quiver to his very core.

            There was _something_ about the stranger that made him feel uneasy. Oddly familiar, to put it into words.

            Gendry, however, shook his head and cleared his throat “So?” he said, bluntly, raising his eyebrows to the young man standing in front of him.

            Garland swallowed hard – Gendry could tell. Then he took a step forward, nervous. Opened his mouth, then closed it again.

            The older man rolled his eyes, exasperated as usual “What’s the matter, Gar? What’s the meaning of all this?” asked Gendry, pointing to the other person there with his chin.

            On the other hand, it was a relief to finally let go of the stiffness he had to pretend with the others. Gar was one of his most trusted men so he could just leave it be; speak his mind rough and blunt as he usually did.

            At this, the youngster responded as Gendry would have expected. He gestured towards him, awkward and obstinate “I did as you commanded, m’lord. It was not my fault!”

            Lord Baratheon took another glimpse to the cloaked one, who was standing so still, he would had forgotten he was even there if it wasn’t for that strange sensation at the pit of his stomach.

            It unsettled him not being able to look at this one’s face, but before he could say something about it, Gar’s voice continued his allegations “It was Rudell’s fault, m’lord”

            Gendry let his feeling pass for a little longer before lifting both eyebrows in assumption “How so? Oliven said your guest has a sword, Gar”

            Garland went suddenly pale. The outsider remained undisturbed, like a mere shadow. Something in that stillness made him quiver, like a familiar sensation of unsteadiness.

            “Well… _yes_ , but…” he started. Gendry rolled his eyes at him, snorting.

            Gendry reached out, silently demanding the sword so he could examine it closely. The young boy handed it to him, slowly. It was sheathed, but it was small. _A short blade_ , slim and light.

            The moment it touched his hand, he felt a void forming in his stomach, like his guts falling into an abyss _._ His heart pounded a bit and suddenly, in less than half an instant, he knew.

            Even so, he unsheathed the sword, his jaw tense and his eyes wide opened. Now his heart was hammering stupidly loud, and his mind was shrieking painful memories and misleading goodbyes.

            He then was fully aware; _he was holding Needle within his hand. He was holding her sword._ That could only mean one thing…

            “It wasn’t the boy’s fault” the voice stroke him like a lightning. Gendry felt his heart sinking inside his chest. He looked up at the stranger, and he asked himself _how he could not know from the very first moment?!_ “It was me who caused a wrangle, _my lord_ ” said the outsider with a calmed voice. Gendry couldn’t decide if it made him feel relieved, or sad, or crazy of pure joy, or just straight up outraged. It was like a bizarre amalgam of all those feelings, mixed with the hope (or the fear) that it was all a dream.

            But then he looked at the cloaked one. She pulled down the hood and he could see her. In the moment he looked those big grey eyes that his heart began to beat again, raging.

            He was staring at the she-wolf’s eyes once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SOOOO... That was it! How does it went? Did you loved it? Did you hated it?  
> Please let me know in the comments, I would really, really REALLY appreciate it.  
> Love you! Read you all in the next chapter!

**Author's Note:**

> So this was Chapter One.  
> I'M LOOKING FORWARD TO READING YOUR COMMENTS ON WHAT YOU THINK ABOUT THIS, MY HUMBLE ATTEMPT TO MAKE EVERYTHING BETTER.  
> I'm sure is full of grammar mistakes, but have mercy on me, English is not my first language and I try. However, feel free to point them out, I'm always open to suggestions and corrections, that's the only way I can get better at this.  
> I hope you had enjoyed it! I wrote this the same night ep. 4 was released, at a sleepless night. I truly hope D&D fix the mess they made last week, but if they don't, then we have the fanfiction realm to calm all our sorrows.  
> I will be posting Chapter Two and Three within the next week, I just want to see what happens in this disaster we call canon now.  
> BUT MY HOPES ARE STILL UP, Y'ALL!  
> Remember, the seed is strong!
> 
> Leave your comments, please!


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